


Casa de Piatra

by sevenofspade



Category: The Princess Curse - Merrie Haskell
Genre: F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 04:03:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenofspade/pseuds/sevenofspade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reveka marries Dragos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Casa de Piatra

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mairelon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mairelon/gifts).



> RL made it so I couldn't spend as much time as I wanted writing this. I hope you enjoy it anyway.
> 
> "Casa de Piatra" (or, more accurately, "Casă de piatră", but Ao3 keeps eating my diacritics) is a traditional way to wish newlyweds a solid marriage.

Now that Reveka knows, she notices that the stars in the Little Well are not reflections of the stars above. They are the stars from Thonos, filtered the water of Alethe.

“You were a prince once,” she says.

Frumos smiles. “More than once.”

In the back of her mind, Reveka notes this down as one more hint to who Dragos used to be. She could ask her father, but it would be too much like cheating. “And now?”

“I am a king and you my queen. Unless you would like not to be? I will not force you.”

“You never did force me.” She holds out her hand, palm up. “I made my choice a long time ago.”

He puts his fingers softly onto her palm.

When he lets go of her hand, he is Dragos again. The stars are far brighter than in the world above and tiny shoots of green grass sprout beneath Reveka’s feet.

“It has been a little over six years since I became Queen of Thonos,” Reveka says. “Why wait this long?”

“Here, you do not age,” Dragos says and falls silent.

“I spent one day out of every five here and asked you for five years. I suppose it has been five years, by that count.” She smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Longer, even. If I had not offered, would you ever have stopped waiting?”

“I have been waiting for things my whole life.” He looks away. “The land is healed. You have done your duty, I can ask no more of you.”

Reveka takes in their surroundings. Tiny flowers blossom on silver trees, ferns grow tall in the moonlight and violin strings can be heard in the wind through the branches. If he does not want to answer her, she knows better than to push him.

She takes off towards the pavillion. “I believe you owe me a dance.”

She does not hear him follow her. On the ground, the shadow of great wings overtake her running feet.

The violin player is unexpected. Not that there is one - Reveka learned long ago that magic in Thonos is few and far between - but who he is. It has been months since she last saw Mihas. He left to fight in Stefan’s war, all the way in Moldavia, where his mother was from. As much as she is glad to see him, she is a bit frightened by the implications. “Mihas! Are you alright?”

Mihas stops playing. “I’m fine, but I couldn’t miss my best friend’s wedding, could I? I’m still waiting for that letter.”

His frown is playful, but that doesn’t ease Reveka’s guilt. He wrote to her from the camp, asking for advice on leg wounds and she hadn’t answered him yet. Wounds, especially festering ones, depend on so much that she hadn’t wanted to make things worse for him. “You’re no herbalist, Mihas, but I will write to you. Can you find elderberry or horsetail where you are?”

His legs look fine. “It’s just Moldavia, not France. I’m sure I can manage.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Do you even know what they look like?” At his guilty face, she adds, “I’ll press you a few so you know what to search for.”

“I thought you were getting married, not catching up with boring old sheep herd me,” he says, picking up his violin.

“You started it!” She sounds childish, but she doesn’t care. It is so good to see him and know he is not dead. She is queen of Thonos and can feel the difference between living souls and the wanderers. She had not known this before now, as there has been no one so impatient they could not wait a day until she returned to the surface.

Mihas doesn’t answer her. He looks over her shoulder and puts bow to the fiddle.

Reveka turns around to face Dragos.

A zmeu’s smiling face is a terrifying thing, but when she closes her eyes, it’s easy to imagine it’s Frumos she’s dancing with, the swoosh of a cape replacing the beating of wings as they spin around the pavillion, gloved fingers instead of claws in her hand and on the small of her back.

Perhaps this is why she opens her eyes. She is marrying Frumos, yes, but she is also marrying Dragos. She least she can do is look at him while she does so.

There no priest to marry them, but no priest would marry a zmeu to a princess or even a herbalist. The words are simple - “I, Reveka of Sylvania and Thonos, take this man for my husband” - and do not end in ‘until death do us part’. Death will not part them.

“Say goodbye, bride,” Mihas says softly behind her. She appreciates the tiny nod to tradition.

Dragos repeats the words back at her, editing it where need be. Ah, she was right. He was who she thought he was.

They are married now, but something’s missing. She kisses Dragos. There. Nothing’s missing anymore. It’s not so bad kissing him and he’s very careful with his teeth.

After a while, Mihas coughs.

They break apart. Reveka takes a step back. Mihas is red in the face and the moon is bright.

It’s brighter than it was and the pull of Thonos’ gravity in her bones ground her. If she thought the connection between herself and the land was strong before, it’s nothing to what it is now. She feels the flow of the rivers in her veins, the disputed territory beyond Alethe as an itch on the back of her skull, the earth beneath her feet even through her shoes. She feels the growth of the forest in the pull of her muscles, the lost souls hover below her skin. She feels like she can fly.

She gets barefoot and walks of the pavillion. She twirls, dirt getting under her nails. Flowers grow between her toes.

She kicks off the ground, unfurls her wings and takes flight.

She is a zmeu, as she should be, as Queen of Thonos.

She folds her wings, dropping into Dragos’ arms. He catches her. Were he a man, he would have had to take a step back. As it is, his knees just bend a little. She lays her hand on his chest, feeling the metaphorical switch inside his soul and flips it.

He lives up to his name of Frumos, even with the slack-jawed of surprise on his face. She kisses him again.

“I’ll be leaving,” Mihas says, edging away. “I’ll be waiting for your letter, Reveka.”

“Come back anytime,” Dragos says.

“Be safe,” Reveka tells him. He will not die in this war, she’ll make sure of it.

When he is out of sight, Reveka digs her nails in Dragos’ scalp. The kiss grows deeper. She moves to unclasp his cape and he catches her fingers.

“I don’t think -” he starts, but falls quiet when they materialise inside her rooms.

“I thought it best to adjourn somewhere less exposed,” she says. The cape falls to the floor.


End file.
